The Lost Bird
by The Lost Bird
Summary: My first foray into fanfics. This story attempts to play around a bit with Crow mthos such as just what the mission of an avatar is.


"The Crow: The Lost Bird"  
  
Story by Todd Slocum  
  
People long ago believed that when a person died, their soul was carried to the next life by a crow. But sometimes, just sometimes, if someone died such a horrible death and carried their sadness with them, the crow would bring them back to make the wrong things right. But what happens if a person's death isn't what causes that great sadness, what if it was their life that caused them to come back? Mike Avery was a loner in high school. He was looked at as a freak because of his appearance. Mike always wore a black trench coat with a black shirt and pants. He stood about six feet tall, but everyone thought he was taller because of the boots he always wore. Mike had green eyes, which were made brighter by the dark background provided by his long black hair. In fact, he was somewhat surprised he had made it to his sophomore year. Mike never was what people would call a "model student". He spent most of his academic life struggling to make "D" averages. I guess with all the crap in his life, he never saw much of a future for himself in some white- collar world. Maybe he was just confused. Maybe it was the screaming and slapping he heard piercing the calm of his dreams every night for the first twelve years of his life. Yeah, his dad used to hit his mom, a lot. Eventually, an anonymous "friend" made sure Mike's dad paid for his sins. He paid for them with twelve smoking hot pieces of lead in his chest. Most people would think Mike's life would improve after that. Don't ever be that sure of anything. Especially when life is involved. Mike's mom got some crap paying job in the most decrepit bar in the large urban metropolis so many lost souls called home. Eventually she fell in with the wrong crowd. Assuming you could call those idiots a crowd. In reality, they were just a bunch of dealers, users, and wanna' be gangsters thinking they looked intimidating with their brass knuckles and small arms. Once in, she became especially good friends with crank and weed. She was also passed around each night to whichever loser couldn't get some on their own. Mike's hatred grew like a bright fire with nothing but dry grass and gasoline in its path. His emotional stability began to fade with each passing day, week, month, year. Soon all that could be seen was an empty heartless shell of a man, nothing but a raging fire seen in those green eyes. No one could have possibly known the demons leading guerilla attacks on his heart were starting to win the war, one agonizing battle at a time. No one could see the scars the battle left on his wrists with only the swipe of a razor blade. By now many have heard the legends of Eric Draven, and if they thought he was unstable after his death, they should have met this kid. I still have serious doubts about the bird's decision to return Mike. By the time Mike was sixteen, he had become accustomed to his mother having "friends" over after hours. Most of the time he would just lie there in bed, praying for whatever god was up in the sky to make the noises stop, to take away his pain. On one particular night, mom would involuntarily set in motion the events that brought in my newest recruit. She came home, drunk, high, or maybe a little of both, with someone Mike had never seen before. The usual started, Mike went to his room, going insane over the mocking at school and the lack of support from that druggie whore he called mother. Then he heard it. Screaming. Crying. Pain. It was a sound he had all but forgotten. Suddenly scenes of his mother and father going at it flooded back from his subconscious. Mike snapped. He couldn't bare his mother being hurt. He couldn't stand being hurt. Mike ended it all. He ran to the bathroom, found his mom's stash. Mike just gulped down dozens of whatever pills he could find. His head ached, his appendages went numb. All the blood in his body came rushing to his face, leaving his body white and the area around his eyes looking painted with a dark red. Eventually, his mom entered the bathroom, she needed another fix or hit of something. Maybe some heroine. She opened the door. More screaming. When the paramedics arrived on the scene, they took the young man's body out of the small two-room shack the boy had once called home. As they left, one paramedic made a crack about the corpse looking like a "clown from hell".  
  
Warmth. Love. Things Mike had never really felt in life. And wherever he was, he wasn't enjoying it. They say you automatically are sent to Hell for committing suicide. They also say a child is too innocent to go anywhere but Heaven. If that were the case, where was Mike? Didn't matter much. They never stayed in that place for long. After what seemed like years, but were in reality only seconds, blackness made its way towards the misguided youth. The blackness devoured him. It chewed Mike up, and spit him out into some uncomfortable wooden box. He tried to open the lid, he should have known nothing was that easy. In the midst of a panic, he punched as hard as he could. To his dismay, large amounts of dirt came pouring in to his box. Two minutes. Three minutes. Fifteen minutes. Normally I'd have given up after five, but there was something about.. I'm getting too far ahead of the story. Eventually the kid came out of the ground, not quite gasping for air. Would you need to in his situation? He stood, for the first time in about six months. In the distance, a sound of metal could be heard clanging against the cold, wet concrete. "Who's there?" Mike asked, still disoriented from his ordeal. No reply. He turned, only to hear the sound of a figure moving very quickly around him. "I'd have thought you'd be back sooner." A soft, motherly voice stated. Mike spun to confront this figure. He was surprised to see a ghost white figure of a woman in front of him. She was dressed all in black, wearing a turtleneck shirt and dark jeans. "Who are you? How do you know me?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. "Doesn't really matter who I am, and I don't really know you. I'm more or less here to tell you why, well, you're back here." The shadow replied. "Okay, so why?" Mike inquired, thinking the most recent events of his "life" were a dream. "First off," she said walking towards some sort of stone item, "do you even know where you are?" Mike took a second to allow his eyes to readjust to the rain soaked, dreary scene around him. Finally, it hit him. "We're in a cemetery, aren't we?" "Right, and you're here because someone became a little overzealous with his mother's pills." "Wait, what're you talking about? That was a dream! I wouldn't be standing talking to you if it weren't!" Mike almost shouted at the somewhat featureless figure before him in the mist of midnight. "Come on, kid, you're familiar with the legends. The Skull Cowboy, Eric Draven, that damned bird waiting over on that tombstone for you!" Now even she was turning the peaceful conversation into a shouting match. Sure enough, as Mike looked over to his right, a black crow was standing atop a grave marker, claws firmly planted into what was once Mike's trench coat. "No fucking way! You can only come back if you're murdered or if there's someone you still love here. All I did was cut up my wrists and OD on some bad pills! Why am I here!" he shouted, as if cursing the world that had spawned the pain he had felt in life. "So you're gonna' tell me you were happier in that pit staring at some bright light?" Mike was silent. "Didn't think so. You can't have been, that's why the crow brought you back. Now, as I was saying before, you know the legends, don't you? The old tales of love lost and vengeance?" she asked, bringing her voice down to a tone softer than any pillow or bed anyone had ever used in life. Mike just nodded. "Well my friend, we're not that lucky. People like us, we're called the "Lost Birds". No purpose in the after life, no purpose in life. Our only purpose is to follow the bird wherever it goes. Tonight, mine brought me to you. What's your name, anyway?" "I'm Mike. Mike Avery. I was sixteen years old. So what am I supposed to do," Mike turned and began to pace as he spoke, "just follow this bird around?" He turned back to the figure, she was gone. Hmmm. I gotta' learn to do that. Mike thought. He lifted his hand to grab the jacket, Mike received more than the jacket. Until that point, he hadn't really remembered much, except for something about razors and pills. Memories of a previous life rushed into the teen's mind. Mike was in awe. He put on the jacket, and wandered through an alley. The pain came back. The screaming, the name-calling, the hitting. All of it. Eventually he came across two guys and some chick. They had a knife, she was scantily clad. I believe you can imagine what was happening. Mike felt he had to do something, and then remembered a very important detail from his "research". When a crow resurrects someone, they are invulnerable until their task is complete. Mike felt as though he had a new toy. "You shouldn't do that." A shadow announced behind the two men. They paused the task at hand and took a look behind them. Nothing. They decided to return to play time. They looked down at the woman again only to see a man dressed in a black coat staring back at them. "Who the fuck is this?!" the first rapist asked, seeming very surprised. The shadow looked up at them. The face was white, with what appeared to be dark red paint around his eyes and mouth. "What the Hell happened to your face man? You meet up wit' dat' ugly stick I been herein' bout?" Mike stood up and faced the men. "Not exactly, but I'll be more than happy to introduce you to this lead pipe I just met." Mike swung the pipe, making contact with the first man's head, taking him out immediately. He picked up the knife. The second man, in disbelief, grabbed the young lady and threatened to "ice" her. Mike took the knife and threw it right between the man's eyes, thus saving the young woman. She almost fainted, but Mike was able to grab her before she fell. In doing so, he absorbed some of her memories. He saw a child, in a one- bedroom apartment in the bad part of town. He also saw the woman doing some "interesting" things for money. "Why would you do this to your child?" He asked. She was too afraid to answer. "Listen ma'am, I don't care what you do to yourself, just please get some help." She ran off, without so much as even a thank you. As Mike turned, the second man got in a sucker jab with a knife. If the crow was supposed to be invincible, why the Hell did that hurt so much? The coward ran off before Mike could do anything. As Mike passed out, he could hear that same sound of metal clanking on the cold wet ground. Dreams can be a horrible thing.  
  
Mike woke up, did his usual routine. He got dressed, and ran downstairs wearing a red shirt with a pair of baggy fitting blue jeans. Down the hall, the smell of charring flesh had left a pungent odor. His mom was in the kitchen making bacon and eggs for breakfast. Perfect meal for one of the most popular tenth graders in school to start his day with. Mike entered the kitchen to see his father sitting in one of his usual office suits reading the Wall Street Journal. "Hey mom, hey dad." Mike said as he pulled up a chair to the breakfast table. "Morning Mikey." his father said, almost too cheery. "Forget to show us something yesterday?" Mike just looked with an honestly puzzled stare. "Something looking similar to, oh say, a report card?" Mike quickly remembered and pulled the tiny sheet of paper out of his gray backpack sitting next to him. His mother rushed over to see the results, as if she really needed to. "Hmmm. just as we thought." A calm silence, "straight A's again. Good job kiddo. Hey, aren't you going to miss your bus?" Mike glanced at his watch and realized his father was right. "Whoops, see ya' mom and dad." Mike yelled, nearly jumping over the table. He grabbed the knob to open the door and felt a kind of dread in the pit of his stomach. It felt as if he had swallowed an apple whole and it wouldn't start to digest. Mike opened the door, only to see total darkness. He heard a voice inside him saying, This is your world now. You can't belong in there. You are one of us. With that, he just collapsed where he stood. No one rushed to help Mike up. As he regained his conscious state of mind, Mike realized he was sitting in a pile of trash bags. As I said before, dreams can be a horrible thing. They can take what little hope remains in life, and proceed to drive a man to the limits of sanity. Sometimes even over the edge. Mike was just sitting there, a gaping wound in his right side, in his trench coat again. Listening to the distant sound of metal clanking against the cold wet ground. "Do you want to know why you're here?" "I'm being punished. The pain wouldn't stop, so I ended it. Now I have to pay for my selfishness. Is that it? Is that the BS story you're going to give me?" Mike asked, almost infuriated by his own madness. "No, I'm merely a guide. Put in this vast desert of souls to teach those like you what you are here to do. Unfortunately, you do not appear to have a purpose. Most do. Vengeance, love, hatred." No one was sure if hate was the reason Mike was back, but this character did not even want to hint at that because of the possible repercussions. "Those like you are unique. You are what we call a 'Lost Bird'." "Yeah, that's what the chick in the cemetery was telling me. What the Hell does it mean, though?" he asked of the figure. "You know the legends. I know the legends. No one, though, speaks of the Lost Birds. Guess people are just better off not knowing about us." "'Us'?" Mike enquired. "Shut up and listen. Crows come back for vengeance, retribution, and love. For some reason, they sometimes bring people like you back. You being 'alive' again, is nothing more than a mistake." That sound of metal again. Mike was on the verge of tears. A mistake in one life, just another mistake in the next. "Like you?" he asked, into the night air. By the time Mike had gotten up to see who he was speaking to, whoever it was had gone. Leaving only the sound of metal and concrete stinging Mike's mind like a bee burrowed deep within his skull.  
  
Mike plodded through the alley, letting his pain be his guide. There was no way he would let some bird tell him what he had to do. It's kind of funny. Although Mike had no idea where he was going, the bird knew exactly where the boy was headed. He was on his way back to where this new chapter had started. He collapsed as visions began filling his head. He saw home. The shack he had called his for the four most torturous years of his life, and he saw it through the crow's eyes. Though he had did not know why, Mike was drawn to following the bird. Damn those fables, he cursed in his head, realizing that in the end he always would end up following the bird. From a neighbor's point of view, it looked as though someone was climbing up a wall into a window that remained uninhabited for the last four months. It led to what was once Mike's own room. Even from outside, the smell of pain could overwhelm anyone thinking they were daring enough to enter the abandoned apartment. His room was looking pretty much the same, save for the empty area in the closet where a black coat once hung forebodingly. Even his bed was still a mess. A trip down memory lane wasn't exactly what Mike had in mind for this particular evening. Dealing with your death is hard enough without having to cope with the pain involved in life. He was repeatedly telling himself that he was just there to pick up his boots, those shoes just weren't cutting it. He walked through the apartment, feeling as though something wasn't right. Mike did not hear anything coming from his mom's room. He opened the door, very slowly. He walked in, discovering the wreckage of a war long ended. Everything was tossed around as though the battle within Mike's soul had spilled out into the real world during his abbreviated life. Then he saw it. The small glimmer of hope in an otherwise lost world. Mike walked over to the golden ring that was once given from his grandmother to his mother. He picked it up. Memories of a life he had never lived invaded his mind. He saw his mother. One of her "friends" had come over. They had their fun, and four more broke down the front door and invaded the bedroom. They all played nice with each other, waiting their turn with the new toy. All the while, Mike watched on anonymously as the blood in his eyes began to tear down his face. Eventually they became bored. They decided to play another game. Punching, slapping, kicking. Mike now had blood and tears streaming from his eyes. In a rage, he slammed his fists into a nearby mirror, shattering it. She fought. She hit, scratched screamed. But no one came to help. In such a jaded city, a true hero is nowhere to be found. Even those you should be able to look to can't do anything, unless you have a certain green colored gift for them. The ring fell off her finger. The movie ended. The pain remained. The fragile psyche of the dead became unbalanced. He picked up a piece of glass, and took the razor sharp item to his wrists in a desperate attempt to physically manifest the pain. The invincible feel no pain. Mike had dealt with his emotions the same way for sixteen years, but now it suddenly stopped working. Just when someone thinks nothing else can be taken away, God always finds a way to screw them over. The scars healed remarkably quickly. Once again, Mike was left alone with a beast he could no longer control. He sat, on the verge of psychosis, staring into a piece of broken glass. A bright light of hope seemed to emanate from the doorway. "So do they teach you how to deal with this kind of thing in Crow school?" Mike asked of the shape, knowing exactly who it was. "Not exactly." The deceased female replied. "Each of the resurrected must find a way to deal with their grief in their own. You have to find an outlet for your pain. For most, it turns out to be the vengeance they return for. For others.." "I ALREADY FOUND A WAY!" Mike screamed as loud as his lungs would allow. "I dealt with my 'grief' and what the fuck happened? Some bird decides I have to come back to relive it again! This is bullshit!" The mind is a fragile thing. Once it snaps, there's usually nothing you can do. And I really didn't feel like dragging a corpse into some psychologist's office. Mike's ability to comprehend his actions had gone. Nothing was keeping him on our side anymore. I had to do something. Mike pulled back his fist and let it make contact with the young woman's face. "How's this for 'dealing' with it?!" Mike kicked her in the ribs knocking her over. The pain in his heart was subsiding, he actually felt good about himself. The woman got back up, and was ready to fight. The sound of metal against the ground returned. "Mike, this won't accomplish anything! Why don't you do good with your gifts?" she asked. "A 'gift'? Is that what you call this? I ended my life to leave the pain behind! And now you're telling me that coming back to feel all that pain again is a 'gift'?" Mike asked. The sound of metal drew even closer. "Settle down child, screaming won't settle anything." I decided to make my presence known. "Mike, being back is a gift. Being stuck in Purgatory is no way to spend eternity. My guess would be that you really have returned for retribution. You're soul was torn between two places in death. You were given life again so that your actions would determine where you would spend eternity." The figure offered. "So why the hell should I listen to you? What the fuck makes you an authority?" Mike was interrogating the figure now. He turned around to see what looked like a skeleton in a cowboy hat staring at him. "Must not have very good information on that internet. I'm the one they always leave out of the stories. I was a guide for countless like you, including Eric Draven. They call me the Skull Cowboy." He replied. "So you're a Lost Bird too?" Mike asked. "Somewhat." The Cowboy answered. "What kind of half assed answer is that? Wait, why are you still here after so many years?" The inquisitive young man wondered out loud. "I came back during the late 1800's. I have the same basic stories as the other crows. I was engaged to marry a woman by the name of Marie Jacobs. That didn't sit too well with her brother, who just happened to be the law in those parts. One night, I went to the neighborhood saloon where Marie was working. We sat together, drank a little and talked. Soon after, I went home. At the time I didn't know it, but her drunk brother had followed me. After sitting home for a while, I heard something out back. I went to go look, got knocked out by a sucker punch. When I woke up, I was tied to a chair soaked in some God awful smelling liquid. I looked up and saw her brother and his lackeys standing in front of me. Not a word was uttered. Soon, he walked out, but not before he was able to generate a spark and light the whole house up. As my skin began to melt, I saw my beloved enter the house, guess she was trying to save me. By the time she got to me, I couldn't be saved. Rather than live without me, she stayed. Just before I died, I could remember watching her skin begin to bubble. I can remember her screams as I slowly faded away. And as I did, I swore vengeance on that murderous son-of-a- bitch. I came back a month later. Killed them all. In the process, an innocent was put in danger, a little girl. I interfered with the living after I should have returned. My punishment, spend eternity on earth without Marie. Crows are brought back to make the wrong things right, protect the innocent. I did that and became punished. I've regretted that decision every day of my 'life' since then. Learn from my mistakes." The sound of metal clanging against the ground returned. "Thanks for the little story, but." Mike put all his strength in his fists and turned to swing at me. The power of the swing was wasted on nothing more than air. Mike took the mistake in stride, and climbed out the window and up a fire escape to the top of one of hundreds of colorless apartment buildings in the area.  
  
As Mike calmly strolled from building top to building top, he couldn't help but ponder upon the situation he was currently facing. On the one hand, there was eternal bliss with his loved ones way up there. On the other, eternal damnation in the fiery pit. Decisions, decisions. At the moment, he couldn't really think of what to do. Too many painful memories to remain on earth, in a city that supposedly never slept, not enough reasons to make an attempt at getting through those pearly gates. And what if there wasn't even really a hell? What then? What if he did nothing, would he just return to Purgatory, awaiting his attempt at redemption among the living? Why should he even bother worrying about it. That Cowboy, he thought, was probably full of... Mike heard a scream from the alley on the other side of the building. He ran over to see what was going on. He peered over the edge, into the gentle fog leading to the ground. He saw a man getting his ass kicked by what looked like a gang of junkies. The poor guy's kid was watching, screaming for someone to save his father. Unfortunately, the sound of chains and glass bottles making contact with his father's skull was enough to drown out the boy's pleas for mercy. Mike thought about helping the man. "So what are you going to do?" Mike turned to see the female crow standing behind him. He just stood there. "Aren't you going to help the guy?" She asked, sounding somewhat angered by Mike's hesitance. "I thought about it," he replied, "but it's not my problem." "That's where you're wrong, anything wrong you see, you must fix. That is, unless you want to spend eternity just sitting in a white room staring at a light." She retorted. "So you heard that Skull guy too, eh? Just who the hell are you, anyway?" "As I said before, that's not important. What is impor.." She was suddenly cut off by some madman ranting. "Yes, it is important, who the hell are you and why are you following me?!" Mike screamed. "Well, to put it bluntly," she began, "I'm you. Or rather a part of your subconscious." Mike instantly had a confused look on his face. "Alright, here's how it goes. After coming back, you were slightly too, how can I put this? Insane to accomplish your task. I am being projected by your mind to tell you what you need to hear. What that is, is that you must do good in your short time here so that you can end up where you belong in the afterlife. Otherwise, you know where you go." "So it's as simple as that. I'm nuts so I have to listen to you. I'm not buying it. I'll be right back to discuss this further." Mike bowed to the young woman and performed a back flip off the roof. He landed right in the middle of the gang beating. The men immediately turned their attention to the adolescent who recently appeared in front of them. Mike arose from the crouching position he was in. "Yo, what the fuck you all painted up for? You some clown or sumtin?" one of the thugs asked. "Yes, your friends hired me to perform on your death day!" Mike responded, immediately reaching for the man's throat and snapping his neck with one hand. "Does anyone else want to play my game?" A second man came over swinging a chain in some fancy matter in front of Mike. He grabbed the chain from the man and swung it around, knocking three men in the head. "Next time you'll just have to try harder." He said, laughing in a very sardonic way. The remaining goon grabbed the guy and held a knife to his throat. "You tryin' to steal our victim, I'll fuck you up boy." He said. "Victims." Mike replied, "Aren't we all?" He took the chain and hurled it at the gangster's head, knocking him into a nearly unconscious state. The "victim" ran over to his son, but decided to stay and watch the finale. Mike grabbed the man by the wrist, and was prepared to break it. Unfortunately, a vision interrupted the momentary pleasure inflicting pain had caused Mike. The vision picked up with the men beating Mike's mother as they abandoned the apartment. They all crawled into some supped up hot rod. They sped down the street, running red lights and stop signs. Eventually, the cops interrupted the fun in the car with the glaring red and blue lights. Mike's new friend was sitting near the door, and forgot to wear a seat belt. He fell out as they took a tight corner. He spent half the night running from police dogs. The vision ended. Mike lost grips with reality once again. He began to pummel the man with the large chain he had picked up during his most recent street brawl. Blood from his face began to splatter everywhere, adding a little more color to Mike's somewhat monochromatic face. His mind had officially left the building. He sensed movement in front of him, the man and his child. They attempted to run, but Mike's speed in had been increased ten-fold in the next life. He appeared in front of them and proceeded with his new favorite past time. It was a pleasure to torture. Mike took the chain and dragged it against their warm flesh, and proceeded to thrust it into their faces, causing his face to turn almost completely red, and Mike loved it. The pain he caused others helped to take his mind off his own pain. He enjoyed the screaming of his victims thoroughly. Until that killjoy jumped from the roof and put a stop to his actions. "What are you doing?" she demanded. "Having fun, now leave me be. Damn it, they're already dead! You made me miss it!" The pain returned to its rightful place. Mike's physically manifested "conscience" was starting to really piss him off. "Listen, little boy. I show up because somewhere inside you, you do want to end up in heaven. Quite frankly, I don't give a rat's ass where you end up. Just don't hurt the innocent, that's how you end up going to hell." "You really think I give a shit where I end up? Heaven, hell, Purgatory. All the same thing. I'll just be a tortured soul no matter where I go, so I might as well have a little fun before I get sent there. And I'd be enjoying myself a lot more if you weren't here. So why don't you do me a favor and." Mike was interrupted by a swift uppercut to his chin. "Didn't think you could actually hurt me." Mike took a swing at her, she dodged to the left. "That won't do anything, you can't kill me. I'm just part of your mind!" If she only knew what Mike did. Mike took a look around, found his crow, then found another. He knew what to do. He jumped into the air, grabbed the second bird, and landed again. "How's that old rhyme go again? 'One crow, sorrow. Two crows, joy.'? I think I prefer the first choice." Mike proceeded to wrap the chain around the bird. "What are you doing?" Mike swung the chain against a wall once, and saw the woman wince in pain. Swung again and watched as she fell to her knees, spitting up blood. One last time. The upper half of the crow exploded. Mike turned to look at the girl again. She was gone. "That was entertaining." Mike started back down the alley in search of a new form of entertainment.  
  
A figure glided across the night sky. The body consumed in black merely a silhouette against the darkness. The crow flew, dodging buildings, billboards, and other airborne hazards in its path. Its flight ended as it approached another of the featureless brick masses in the city's skyline. Atop the apartment was another dark figure. The bird landed on its owner's left shoulder, but the figure remained motionless. He sat there, in a pair of white pants and no shirt, twelve holes openly visible across his chest. The man was soon done with his meditation. "No need to speak," he told the bird in a deep, soothing voice, "I saw it all." Of course, he was referring to the little reconnaissance mission he had sent his watcher on. "So bird boy," another man was on the roof. Had Mike been there, he would have recognized the man as one of the thugs from the car his mother was in that night four months ago. He was not a very tall man, only stood about five-foot-seven and spoke somewhat less eloquently than his bullet- ridden companion, "what did your little friend find tonight?" he asked. "If you must know, there is another walking out there tonight, another like me." He replied as he put on his white vest, a feudal attempt to hide his wounds. "You know him, or did he skip the freak convention last week?" He lit a cigarette, laughing at his own little joke. A light breeze whipped around him, and his cigarette went out. He looked up to ask another question, no one was there. Suddenly he felt a tight squeezing around his throat. "Do not mock me, little man. I possess powers which the likes of you could never even hope to comprehend!" The figure in white released his grip, a small man gasping for air was released unto the world. "Anyway, to answer your question, yes, I am familiar with the child. His name is Michael Avery. I don't believe he posses a threat to our little operation." "Damn right it's little. I remember you coming up to me and my crew a few years ago saying that by now we'd own this town. Well, it's been four years and so far we've only taken about half of it. What do you plan on doing to change this?" "Do not concern yourself with such trivial things. I will have it all cleared up soon enough." The man in white replied, sounding almost too sure of himself. "Yeah, but what do we do in the mean time. These turf wars with the Cougars ain't exactly helping our numbers. Also not attracting as many new recruits. You better.." He caught himself, not wanting to feel the tightness of the other's grasp around his throat. "I mean, I hope your plan works. Otherwise we might as well throw in the towel." He finished. The other man stood silent, without so much as a single breath escaping into the cold, wet night. The rain started up again. The small man decided to return to the comforts of his group's garage. Just as he reached the fire escape, the other spoke. "Daniel, do not expect Jehoshaphat to arrive for the next meeting on time." Daniel, the short man, did not so much as turn. With his head hung low, almost already knowing the answer, he asked in a low, beaten down voice. "What happened to Joe?" "He met our new friend in an alley before I had the opportunity to. If I cared about you pitiful idiots, I might actually be somewhat downed by this sad turn of events." "Abaddon, you mother fucker!" Daniel turned, only to feel a swift breeze and be confronted with nothing. The coward didn't even have the nerve to face me, he thought. He continued down the stairs, wondering how to break this to the guys.  
  
Mike wandered wearily out of the darkness of the alley, and into the abyss of the rain-soaked streets. It was late at night, only hookers and the homeless daring to brave the criminals rampant in this part of the city. He walked on, blood oozing from his right ribs, hauling a chain soiled by the blood of the innocent. Despite these gruesome factors, the crack whores had no problem propositioning the child. "Hey baby, want me to make a man outta' you?" one asked. Mike paused, letting the warmth of his own blood keep his torso from freezing. "Do you want to die?" he asked, as he turned to the woman, making his bloodstained face visible to her. She started to back off, as a police cruiser pulled up to the pair. The vehicle's driver exited and approached Mike. The hooker ran off, hoping she wouldn't have to spend yet another evening in jail. "So," the officer started, "you looking for a good time. We got a guy we call Bubba waiting for a pretty boy like you to come in his cell. You and him could become real good friends." He told the young man as he began to laugh. "What's wrong," Mike glanced at his nametag, it was an officer he had known from his "lost" years, "Dick? He get tired of your sweet ass?" Officer Richard pistol-whipped Mike, who stumbled forward feigning pain. "Ouch!" he yelled sarcastically. He turned to face the man, who had his gun now aimed right for Mike's face. "Now, in the next two seconds after this sentence, I'm going to run behind you, wrap my friend here" Mike jingled his chain, "around your neck, and then break it, all before you can get off a single shot. Ready?" Mike took a single step forward. "You move I'll blow your fucking head off." Mike crouched down, and seemingly vanished, with only a burst of wind in the policeman's direction. He soon felt cold metal around his neck. "Okay, I lied." The officer was gasping for breath in front of Mike. "Three seconds." He then rotated the chain 180 degrees, and heard the snap he was waiting for. The man's partner just sat in the squad car amazed by the incredible demonstration of skill he had just witnessed. The corpse of his former partner crushing the windshield of the vehicle cut his admiration short. Meanwhile, Mike slowly made his way towards the passenger door. The remaining officer frantically moved into the other seat and tried to start the car, but it was having a bit of engine trouble. He was cursing the cruiser, begging it to start for him. Mike made it to the door, the man began praying for help. He is a lucky man. I jumped from the fire escape of a nearby building, and as Mike opened the door, I pulled him away and threw him against a nearby building. "What the hell are you doing?!" he shouted. "Saving your dumb ass!" I replied. The police officer sped off, ignoring traffic lights and hitting trashcans on the sides of the road. "You know, you are really starting to get on my fucking nerves. You goddamn cowboy." Mike paused, letting a half smile cross his face. "Actually, killing you might provide me with some entertainment for a short while." He turned to face me. "Think we should test my theory?" "Wouldn't work. No matter what I stay here on earth. It's my punishment, didn't you pay attention to the story?" I asked, knowing damn well how he would answer. "Never mind. Anyway, your current path is not exactly leading to a great after life." "Big deal. As I've said before I don't give a shit where I end up. Actually, I might just stay here." He decided. "He who ignores discipline despises himself, but whoever heeds correction gains understanding." "Be on your guard against the yeast of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy." Mike replied, "You strayed from your path, so why is it that I should listen to you?" "So you don't end up stranded in hell for eternity!" "What proof do you have there even is a hell? Or even a heaven for that matter? I'm staying right here on earth, and I'm going to enjoy it. So fuck off!" The little bastard caught me with an uppercut and took off down the street. I figured I'd let him go, cool off for a while. It wasn't like Mike was going anywhere. 


End file.
